


at liberty

by ethia



Series: all this that is more than a wish [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, because John knows how to hurt like no other, coda to Dead Reckoning, h/c, the last of Harold's tie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/ethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John swallows thickly; he thinks of Rikers, the small confines of the cell, the endless hours of nowhere to go, trapped and forsaken.</p><p>"Perhaps you would like to avail yourself of my services", Harold says, slyly, his mouth soft on John's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at liberty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The boys aren't mine, nor is the tie.
> 
> Set after _Dead Reckoning_ ; follows [tangerine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3463169), precedes [falling catching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3461438). I recommend reading the former for added context.
> 
> I'm absolutely done with that tie now.

 

 

 

+++

 

 

 

The walls of the library are closing in on him today, heavy sheets of rain draining the city of color and light, painting the streets gray. He's edgy with it, off-kilter; Harold sighs into his mouth when John burrows close in the murky light of the backroom.

 

Harold's skin is warm under his mouth, his scent achingly familiar in John's nose. He moves haltingly, lingers in the crook of Harold's shoulder, where he can rest his face flush against Harold's neck, simply breathing.

 

"John."

 

Calling him to attention, because he's gone still in Harold's embrace, the secure hold of his arms.

 

"Sorry," he mutters, and there's no helping the flush of warmth creeping up the back of his neck, or the way his fingers curl more tightly into Harold's shirt.

 

"Don't," Harold says, lips pressed to the crown of John's head, "don't apologize." His hands fall away from John to come between them, all the way up to the front of his shirt. He works quietly for a moment, then finds John's hand, and presses his tie into it.

 

John swallows thickly; he thinks of Rikers, the small confines of the cell, the endless hours of nowhere to go, trapped and forsaken.

 

"Perhaps you would like to avail yourself of my services", Harold says, slyly, his mouth soft on John's.

 

John comes with his bound arms looped around Harold's neck, drawn over the edge by the sweet persistence of his mouth, unraveled by the warmth in his eyes.

 

They rest together, Harold with his back to the wall, John's head cradled to his stomach, drowsy under the gentle up and down of Harold's fingertips on the back of his neck, like a drizzle of rain.

 

“I want you to ask,” Harold says, cradling John's head in his palm, “when you need this for yourself.”

 

The tightness in John's chest unfurls, and he takes a long, shuddering breath.

 

“I'll teach you a better knot,” he whispers, letting himself drift off, his face hidden in the coarse wool of Harold's jacket.

 

 

 

Fin.


End file.
